Here Comes the Sun
by Zappanale
Summary: John O'Rourke, a former gangster just released from prison, just wants to live his his days out peacefully with his wife and the daughter he'd never met. But his former boss and Leone captain Jimmy Nails has other plans...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This an original story, with SOME original characters. Grand Theft Auto belongs to it's creators and all that muck.**

Little darling it's been a long cold lonely winter,  
Little darling it feels like years since it's been here.  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,  
And I say it's all right.  
Little darling the smiles returning to their faces,  
Little darling it seems like it's years since it's been here,  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,  
And I say it's all right.

**1**

John O'Rourke lit his first cigarette of his new life as the prison gates closed behind him, and grinned at the day, which was blue and beautiful and sunny. He began to walk, dragging off of his Lucky Strike every few steps.

He's a tall man, broad shouldered, with massive, powerful hands. His face is squared and strong chinned, and it looks as though it were carved out of cheap rock. His eyes were gray, cold chips of onyx. The cigarette looked like a toothpick between his thick fingers. He has thick black hair, worn long-ish and brushed—not slicked—back. There's a light coating of stubble on his chin.

John O'Rourke had spent the last seven years of his life in the Liberty City Correctional Facility, doing a five to ten behind an armed robbery rap. He'd originally been slated for five years, but then he'd taken an eye out of another inmate.

As he walked, a taxi cab pulled up beside him and asked if he wanted a ride. O'Rourke considered, then said, "Go to hell." The cab driver said, "Screw you, buddy!" and yanked back into traffic. O'Rourke spat in the gutter, lit his last cigarette, and walked across the Portland/Staunton connecting bridge.

The bridge moved and swayed under his feet from the wind, and it made him angry. O'Rourke's suit, a brown single-breasted with a black silk tie, fluttered behind him in the wind. The suit was limp with age, and no pressing. O'Rourke figured he'd get a new one when he got a job. _If _he got a job. If.

He got to Portland early in the afternoon, and panhandled a dime from a latent fag with big hips. The diner he went to was called Faye's Place, and O'Rourke ordered a burger and a milkshake, bumming a Marlboro from the waitress. He twisted off the filter of the the cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it with a cheap paper match.

After lunch, he dropped the dime on the counter and walked out.

The waitress called him a limp-dick cocksucker, which O'Rourke ignored as he made his way out into the street.

He walked to the bus stop, moving slow, and caught one to Fenton Street, in Trenton. The apartment building there was pre-war, old and shifting with the wind, and as O'Rourke made his way up the stairs and drunk nearly passed out on him. O'Rourke sent the guy down the stairs, took his wallet, and continued his walk.

He knocked on the door of apartment 7B. A woman with auburn hair and no makeup answered, a slim woman with a delicate build, small breasts, a round and thin face. Her eyes, giant blue eyes, looked at O'Rourke with an odd expression, one edging between love and hate.

A little girl, with O'Rourke's cold eyes, clung to the woman's leg.

The woman said, "Jesus Christ, John…." And embraced him. O'Rourke wasn't looking at her, though, he was looking at the little girl. His daughter.

He went inside with the two of them, and shut the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This chapter was essentially setup. Expect some minor action in the next one.**

**Also, thank you to my two reviewers, especially S Kinsella, who actually put me on her favorites list. Thanks...made me blush a little.**

**1**

James Francis Cohen was born in 1952 in a small local hospital in Trenton, the docks district of Liberty City.

He came up hard and cold, earning the nickname "Jimmy Nails" at the age of fifteen when he nailed another kid—a black, from Harwood—onto a pool table. He'd served six years in a juvenile prison and two in a state prison for that.

At the age of twenty-five he joined a gang of robbers calling themselves the "Megale Crew." They were a rag-tag bunch of Italians and Irishmen from the projects of St. Marks and Trenton, led by a fairly intelligent and cunning thief named Jimmy Megale. He ran with them for three years, culminating in yet another prison sentence. Jimmy Megale was recently shot to death outside of a nightclub in Carcer City.

In prison he meets Joey Leone, the son and one of the captains of renowned Liberty City mafia boss Salvatore Leone. The two become friends, and when Jimmy is released Joey tells him to meet up with Luigi "Louie the Pimp" Goterelli.

Luigi gives him some soft rackets to chew on, like numbers and gambling and small time scams. Eventually Jimmy Nails proved himself to be a valued member of the Leone organization when he participated in a vicious gangland massacre with then-Forelli gunman Tommy Vercetti. Vercetti would later become the undisputed king of Vice City, but that's another story.

Cohen is given a lucrative position in the Leone family in which he is able to run his own organization, make his own ranks, work his own rackets. In return for the favor of letting him operate in Leone territory, Cohen is forced to pay tribute. Five hundred thousand every two weeks. At first, it's a real hassle making the money to pay the debt. But as time passes, and as money starts to flow, it got easier.

For years, things run smoothly. Jimmy sets up his crew with only the best men, including well-known Trenton gunmen Alvin Kelly, Ronnie Marlins, Joe Carroll, Marvin Fayette, and more. His advisor and the heir to his throne is a man named Mickey Paultz, a Jew. Paultz used to be a killer with Tony Cipriani. A good one.

They run the hard rackets. Prostitution, contract murder, drugs, gambling, loan sharking, etc.

At one point he establishes a casino presence in Las Venturas, before Carl Johnson takes everything on the West coast over. Jimmy took that loss fairly heavily.

In all, things go very well for James Francis Cohen, a former slums kid who is now a millionaire…on his own terms.

And then Sal Leone calls him, and wants to talk.

"Two guys are comin' into town from Carcer, Jimmy. The Rose brothers…you remember them? Al and Louis Rosetti. We had a beef with them not too long ago, y'know, ended up with one of their guys dead, some over-the-hill robber named Jimmy Megale. Well, they run a pretty tight crew over there in Carcer, but things are starting to slip. I hear they're lettin' niggers into their crew. You believe that? Fucking jungle-bunnies. Back in my goddamn day, this shit wouldn't happen. My point is…well, the commission has made a decision that these two have to go. You know about the commission, right?"

The Commission is a national organization of crime lords, sort of like the chairmen of the board. They're led by an old man named Leonard Barone, and whatever Barone says is what goes. They control interests in every city in America that houses a large organized crime family, and almost every contract on a boss is passed down from a commission member.

"Yeah," Jimmy had replied. "I know about the commission." Sal Leone's voice came back strong, vigorous. "Good. Make sure to use somebody out of town for the hit, I don't want anything connected with us after that stunt Vercetti pulled down south. Get it done, Jimmy."

The phone went dead. Jimmy Nails let it hang by his ear for a moment, then dropped it into the cradle and looked across the desk at Mickey Paultz, who sat silently smoking a cigarette.

"John O'Rourke just got outta' the joint, right?" asked Jimmy. Mickey nodded. The old Irish gang-boss nodded and said, "Well, call em' up. You heard Sally. Somebody from out of town. O'Rourke ain't out of town, but, I mean, shit…it isn't like he'll live long enough to lead the cops to anything."

Mickey grinned, and reached for the phone.


End file.
